


This Night is Sparkling

by katertots



Series: Invisible Smoke [1]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23495071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/pseuds/katertots
Summary: [One Shot] Matt's out for a typical night at Molly's at Severide's behest. He's grumpy, tired, and sick of his friends calling him an old man. Flirting with a gorgeous blonde wasn't on his agenda, but maybe this chance encounter is exactly what he's been missing.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Series: Invisible Smoke [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690492
Comments: 68
Kudos: 117





	This Night is Sparkling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! For months now, I've had this idea rolling around in my head after listening to Taylor Swift's "Enchanted" and I wanted to explore a little AU for Matt and Sylvie. This thing got away from me and turned into a much longer fic than I had intended. The title comes from the song. Enjoy!

* * *

_ There I was again tonight  _

_ Forcing laughter, faking smiles _

_ Same old tired, lonely place _

_ Walls of insincerity _

_ Shifting eyes and vacancy  _

_ Vanished when I saw your face _

_ -"Enchanted" by Taylor Swift _

* * *

For the record, Matt doesn’t want to be here tonight. He’d repeatedly told Severide that, but it only fell on deaf ears and he wound up being dragged into Molly’s anyway.  _ It’ll be good to get out.  _ _ You’ve been spending too much time alone lately. _

While true, it’s a bit of a thorn in his side. He’s closer to 40 than he’d like to be, divorced, and sharing an apartment with his best friend. Most days he’s fine with all of those things. With age comes experience and wisdom, and he enjoys being able to employ those things as a leader on the job. Sharing an apartment with Severide allows him to save and invest money for the future, which is practical if you ask him. And he long ago made his peace over the divorce, so it’s not like he’s still carrying a torch for his ex-wife.  _ Because he’s not. _ They gave it their best and it simply wasn’t enough in the end. That’s life. 

But some nights—like tonight—when he’s tired from shift and his body feels a whole lot older than its years, he wishes he still had a home of his own and someone to share it with. Someone he could curl up next to on the couch, drink a beer with while watching a movie, and just— _ be.  _

Sometimes the aching expanse of loneliness inside threatens to drag him under and he has a tendency to brood like a motherfucker for days when it does. That usually carries over to shift, too, and he spends too much time holed up in his quarters instead of interacting with others. In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing Severide knows him as well as he does and made him come out tonight. Not that he’ll admit it. Admitting it means staying out later than he wants to. Matt’s having two drinks and leaving. 

Molly's is full of the usual suspects, comprised mostly of his 51 family and some of the neighborhood locals. Matt signals Herrmann for a beer and snags the empty barstool next to Mouch where he spends the next 20 minutes watching the Cubs game and listening to them argue over Trudy's suggestion to switch cocktail napkin vendors. Definitely not his first choice for how to spend an evening, but there's an odd sort of familiarity and comfort to it as well. 

Jesus. He needs a girlfriend. 

Maybe he should ask Gallo about which online dating apps are good and—no, scratch that. The thought of online dating makes him want to stick his head in the oven. He'll just die alone. 

One beer down and he's seriously considering cutting bait and going home. That thought must be written on his face, because Severide sets a fresh one down on the bar and levels him with a cut-the-shit look. "You're not leaving, so don’t even try it."

Matt rolls his eyes and reaches for a handful of peanuts.

Kidd approaches them with a smile and a hungry look in her eyes aimed directly at Kelly, which is something Matt's subjected to on a damn near daily basis between 51 and the apartment. They’re completely happy together though, and she’s been great for his best friend. While he doesn’t begrudge their happiness one bit, it does highlight his own complete lack of love life. 

“Hey,” she says, leaning across the bar to plant a noisy kiss on Severide’s mouth. Matt averts his eyes and sips his beer. “Good to see you out tonight, Casey!” she acknowledges with a friendly smile. 

“Happy to be here,” he replies dryly, eyes cutting back to the baseball game. 

Stella snorts and wipes down the bar with the rag in her hand. “I can tell,” she drawls. “Don’t you ever get tired of the grumpy old man routine?” 

Matt’s jaw ticks and feels his brows knit together. Why does everyone have to be on his damn case today? Is he really that miserable to be around? He supposes if he has to question it then he already knows the answer. “I’m not a grumpy old man,” he mumbles, earning dissenting laughter from his friends.

“C’mon, Casey,” Severide teases. “You’re two seconds away from shaking your fist and yelling  _ get off my damn lawn! _ ” 

“Seriously, I’m about to get a pillow made that says  _ Casey’s Spot _ so you and Mouch can match!” Stella adds. 

Matt laughs, loosening the miserable knot in his chest. His friends are assholes sometimes, but they know how to get him to lighten up. “Damn, Kidd, that was brutal!”

“Better run some cold water on that burn,” Severide adds, grinning over the top of his pilsner glass. 

“Ha ha, you guys are hilarious!” he says drolly, getting up from his seat. At Severide’s questioning stare, Matt adds, “Do I need your permission to take a piss, too?”

Unfazed, Severide chuckles and sweeps his hand in the direction of the bathroom. “Be my guest.”

Matt uses the restroom, then stops to chat at Ritter and Gallo’s table on the way back. Both men were terrific additions to 51, and he enjoys talking to them. First and foremost, they’re fantastic people, and damn fine firefighters to boot. Not to mention they inject the atmosphere with some youth and fun, which is something everyone in his life seems to think he needs more of. Admittedly, they’re not wrong. But then Gallo switches conversation topics to the latest TikTok videos, so Matt begs off as quickly as he can. “I’ve got an unattended beer over there,” he nods towards the bar. “Enjoy your night.” 

There’s only so much he’s willing to bend, and a stupid social media video app is where he draws the line. If that makes him an old man, so be it. 

Cutting through the crowd that has grown considerably in the last 20 minutes, Matt spots a group of women congregating where he’d previously been sitting, and no sign of Severide. Now’s his chance to make a break for it and call it a night. He winds his way to the end of the bar to flag down Stella in order to pay his tab, and waits while she’s busy pouring drinks for the other customers. Leaning against the bar, he checks the score of the Cubs game. They’re up 3-1 in the bottom of the 9th. It’s been a rocky start to the season, so he’s happy they’ll probably get to fly the W tonight. 

A burst of warm, bright laughter floats down the bar, piercing his concentration on the game. It’s a delightful sound—contagious even—the kind that tugs at the corners of your mouth and forces you to pay attention in hopes that you’ll get to hear it again. Curiosity piqued, Matt casts his eyes in that direction to find the source of the laughter. He’s not sure what he expects to find, exactly, but he damn sure wasn’t anticipating a willowy, knockout blonde with a brilliant smile that lights up her entire face when she laughs. 

Now, Matt considers himself a pragmatic guy most of the time, especially when it comes to his personal life. Call him jaded if you want, but he's been through the wringer enough times that it's just good sense to keep both feet firmly on the ground. He doesn't subscribe to the foolish fantasy of love at first sight. Doesn't believe in soulmates and  _ meant to be. _ And he sure as shit doesn't imagine what it would be like to have a magical movie moment and meet the person you're destined to be with. 

And yet…

The woman laughs again, just as clear and uninhibited as before, and time seems to slow down exponentially like in those stupid romantic comedies he's never had a taste for. Everything around him blurs away except for this gorgeous woman with the dazzling smile and wavy sunshine hair. He catches a winking flash of dimple in her cheek and he swears he goes dizzy, like he's just had his bell rung thoroughly with a shovel. The only thing missing from the trifecta of cliches he’s currently experiencing is a sweeping musical score. However, the bar erupts in cacophonous cheering signaling the end of the Cubs game which could serve as a soundtrack, but it does the right thing and slaps him back to reality before he gets caught staring like a slack-jawed lunatic. 

Dazed, he turns his head to the nearest TV, confirming what the raucous already did—Cubs won—and the bar continues to celebrate the W as though it were a playoff game instead of the regular season. No one can deny that Chicagoans are passionate about their sports. 

The urge to sneak a second look at her is overwhelmingly strong, like the pull of a magnet. He wishes he still had a beer to drown the flames licking in his gut and making him break out into a sweat. Jesus, this is absurd. He's a fully grown man for Christ's sake, not some barely-pubescent boy who's just discovered what attraction to another person feels like. Blowing out a breath, he attempts a covert glance down the bar at the woman, sees the martini glass in her hand raised to her muted pink lips. She takes a generous gulp then brushes the pad of her thumb along the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop. Fascinated by her, Matt watches every movement. How her slender fingers cradle the glass as she sets it down on the bar. The way her lips move when she says something to her friend beside her. How her eyes crinkle pleasantly in the corners when she smiles. It’s why he notices the second her eyes flick over in his direction to meet his gaze head on. 

_ Shit,  _ he’s caught! He quickly looks down at the lacquered bar top as a heady rush surges through his chest, heart beating a rapid tattoo against his ribs. It feels like embarrassment at first, the way heat floods over his face all the way to the tips of his ears. But when he dares another fleeting glimpse a few seconds later, catches her looking at him again (or maybe still), he recognizes it as something else altogether. Something he’s so far out of practice with that he almost missed it. 

Flirting.

Specifically, flirting with a stranger. That giddy thrill of stolen glances across a crowded room with someone you find attractive. 

One corner of his mouth ticks up while keeping his eyes on hers. It’s hard to tell from a distance, but he’s fairly certain her eyes are blue. He’s dying to find out if he’s right. A soft, bashful smile curls over her mouth, that cute dimple making another appearance.  _ Damn. _ He doesn’t even know her name and already he’s a sucker for that dimple. She looks away first this time, carding her fingers through her hair on one side to tuck it behind her ear. Matt takes in her profile and finds it every bit as lovely as the rest of her, with her straight, high bridged nose and full mouth. 

She ignores him for the time being, engaging in conversation with her group of friends surrounding her. Briefly he wonders if this flirtatious game of cat and mouse is on pause or if it’s over entirely. That is until she begins idly circling the rim of her martini glass with her index finger before slowly picking it up again. Her eyes flick his direction and he catches a smirk aimed at him over the rim of her glass before she drains the rest of her drink. It’s sexier than it has any right to be, so chalk up one point in her favor. 

“Need something, Casey?” Kidd asks, forcing him to table the flirting momentarily. 

“Uh—yeah,” he replies slowly, angling his head towards Stella, giving her an easy smile. “Another beer.” 

She grabs one from the cooler and pops the top off. Immediately her eyes narrow on him, which always makes him wary. “You’re in a suspiciously good mood.”

Matt shrugs. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to get the stick out of my ass?”

Clearly amused, Stella purses her lips and holds up a finger. “Hey now, I never said stick. I just want you to lighten up and have some fun. Maybe meet someone.” 

A hand claps him hard on the back, and Severide shoulders in next to him. “Good, you’re still here! I thought for sure you’d’ve ducked out by now. What are we talking about?”

“Pretty sure Casey’s having something that resembles fun. But he’s been down here by himself, so I’m trying to puzzle it out.” 

Christ. Matt can’t win. First, he’s too much of a grumpy old man, then he attempts to have fun and they give him shit. His friends need to pick a damn lane and stay there. But he knows good and well they won’t. He might as well fill them in because they’ll never leave him alone at this rate. “Look—please don’t go making this a thing, but I’m flirting with someone. Kind of.”

Severide looks pointedly around Matt and grins. “Is this a George Glass situation?”

Chuckling, Matt shoves Severide’s shoulder. “Get bent! You’re out here making Brady Bunch references and  _ I’m  _ the old man here? I see how it is.” 

Stella mulls over what he’s told her, then finally her brows tick up, impressed. “You’ve been eye flirting, haven’t you, Casey.”

A crooked grin steals across his face. “Maybe a little bit.” Of course as soon as the words leave his mouth, Stella and Severide start rubbernecking trying to figure out who it is. “Real subtle, you two. Fuck’s sake—quit it!” 

“Ooh! Is it the redhead? She’s hot—no, no wait. It’s the brunette with legs up to here,” she guesses, holding her hand up to her chest. 

Matt smirks and takes a pull from the beer bottle in his hand. “Nope.”

“I know who it is,” Severide states confidently, the grin on his face bordering on arrogant.

“Doubt it,” Matt replies, equally confident, and purposely keeping his eyes off the woman in question to not give himself away. 

Severide nods his head, gesturing towards the middle of the bar. “Blonde hair, black tank top. Face sweet like apple pie.” 

Matt blinks in surprise, lips pressing together in a thin line. “How’d you do that?”

“C’mon,” Severide starts, clinking his beer bottle against Matt’s. “Don’t insult me or embarrass yourself by asking stupid questions. You forget how long I’ve known you.”

“Well, she’s  _ really _ cute, Casey! Are you gonna talk to her?” 

Oh, he definitely wants to. He wants to find out her name, discover if his guess about her eyes being blue is correct, see if he can make her laugh just so he can hear the sound again and hopefully see that sweet dimple pop in her cheek. Jitters settle into his stomach at the thought of going over there just yet. “I’m working on it. I do want to send her another drink, though. Martini I believe.”

Stella looks at her and thinks for a second. “Yep, dry martini. Extra dirty.” The smile on her face could rival the Cheshire cat’s. 

He lets that go without further comment. “Tell her it’s from me.”

“Okay, Matt Casey. I see you and respect this game you’ve tapped into. Color me impressed, frankly.” She tosses a dismissive wave and walks away. 

You know, he’s getting pretty tired of the whole  _ Old Man Casey is hopeless _ schtick, but he lets that go, too. For the first time in a while, he’s enjoying himself, and the prospect of meeting someone new doesn’t exhaust him. His best friends can suck it. 

“Beat it,” he orders Severide. “Go hang out with Cruz, or Ritter and Gallo. Just—please go. Let me have nice things.” 

To his friend’s credit, Severide acquiesces with a nod and encouraging smile. “Good luck, man! Have fun.”

He hopes to.

Taking another sip of his beer, he slants his eyes to where Stella is delivering a fresh martini to the woman he bought it for. He’s trying to play it cool despite the mix of nervous excitement swirling low in his gut and not stare too intently. There’s interested and then there’s trying too hard. He hopes sending her a drink doesn’t fall into the latter category. He’s out of practice with all this stuff and suddenly feels out of his depth.

Matt watches Stella exchange a few words with this woman and point to where he's sitting. A smile steals across her lips a second before she turns her head. Now, not only does he have the blonde’s attention, but her group of friends’ as well, several heads following suit and turning to scope out the guy attempting to flirt with their friend. He isn’t going to worry about them, or let their scrutiny force him to chicken out of this. Not when he’s come this far already. So he smiles softly, letting the corners of his mouth kick up, and lifts a hand in a casual wave. 

Working a corner of her bottom lip between neat white teeth, she reaches up again to smooth the hair already tucked behind her ear before looking over and flashing a warm smile. Picking up her drink, she says something to her friends, then slides down off her barstool to walk towards him. 

He takes another drink and swallows around the nervous lump in his throat as she winds her way through the small crowd between them, wondering what he should say. Setting the bottle down on the bar, he turns his body towards her, pasting an easy smile on his face as she draws nearer. She comes to a stop in front of him, placing her drink down next to his. Matt thought she was pretty from a distance, but he isn’t quite prepared for how absolutely gorgeous she is up close. Her eyes are indeed blue, just like he thought, but his imagination had been decidedly shortsighted; he definitely was not expecting them to be the color of a crystal clear summer sky. And she has two beauty marks above her top lip that add a charming quality to her already beautiful face. His heart knocks against his ribs again.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Matt.”

She smiles sweetly, that adorable dimple he’s already half-crazy for reappearing, and places her hand in his, shaking it with a steady grip. “Sylvie.”

For decades, songwriters have penned songs about moments like this one. Meeting each other’s eyes across the room. Sparks flying. Chemistry igniting.  _ Goddamn. _ It seems that Matt’s tossed anything resembling pragmatism out the window tonight, because once again his surroundings narrow, everything fading until it’s only the two of them in the bar—just Matt and Sylvie—warm palms pressed together, the jolt of electricity tingling up his arm. He gets the distinct impression he’s not alone in that feeling either; not with how Sylvie glances down at their joined hands, lips parted, squeezing firmly once more before letting go. He’s a stupid walking cliche, and he finds that he doesn’t care at all.

“Sylvie,” he repeats, enjoying the way her name rolls off his tongue. It’s a pretty name that fits her. “Nice to meet you.”

Sylvie’s eyes flick up to meet his, friendly and sparkling beneath the twinkle lights overhead. “You, too, Matt,” she replies, fingering the delicate gold chain around her neck. He wonders if maybe she’s just as nervous as he is. “Thanks for the drink.” 

Matt gives a friendly nod. “You’re welcome.” He swipes his beer up again and holds it out between them. Sylvie follows suit and picks up her martini. “To slightly awkward but hopefully not painful bar conversation.” 

She laughs, which was the exact response he’d been hoping for. “I’ll drink to that,” she says, tapping her glass gently on his bottle. “Cheers!” 

"So, how’s your evening going?" he asks. 

Sylvie drums her fingers gently against the side of her glass. “Having a pretty great night so far. We’re doing a bar crawl for my friend Holly’s birthday,” she tells him, gesturing towards her group of friends. Matt notices a petite brunette wearing a birthday tiara that didn’t see earlier. 

It feels like a million years ago since his bar crawl days. “Those are fun,” he says, fond memories dancing through his head. “How many stops is Molly’s for you?”

“Second,” she answers, holding up two fingers. She glances around the bar before meeting his eyes again. “I like this place—it’s got a cool vibe.”

“Yeah, it’s a great place,” he agrees. “Good people.” 

Sylvie sips her drink. “What about you, Matt? How’s your night?”

One shoulder shrugs casually, and he mulls over the best way to answer her question. "You know, it’s been interesting,” he starts, which is the truth. Nothing about this evening is anything like he’d expected. Sylvie raises one perfectly sculpted brow in question, so he continues. “I was railroaded into coming out tonight,” Matt admits, huffing out a quiet laugh. "My friends seem to think I lack fun in my life. Told myself I was only staying for two drinks and leaving after the Cubs game.”

“But then?” she asks, curiosity flickering in her big blue eyes. She shifts almost imperceptibly closer, but he doesn’t miss it. Doesn’t miss the crisp, clean scent of her perfume wafting into his space and becoming intoxicated by it—by  _ her. _

Matt’s gaze cuts down to his boots as he scrubs a hand over the back of his head, a hardy case of nerves swirling in his stomach. Slowly he lifts his head, his eyes finding hers, and says, “But then I heard you laughing.” 

Surprise flashes quickly in her eyes, and she bows her head, color blooming prettily across her cheekbones. A smile slides over her mouth as she looks up at him again, through lowered lashes this time. “Aren’t you a smooth talker?”

Shaking his head, a laugh shutters past his lips. She has no idea just how wrong she is. “God, no! I’m a disaster,” he freely admits. “Ask my friends; they’ll gladly pile on.” 

Sylvie giggles, and it is utterly charming to his ears. “The bartender put in a word for you when she delivered my drink; said you were a good guy.” The smile on her lips turns teasing and she points to his face. “And by the adorable way you’re blushing right now, I think that’s probably true.” 

Embarrassed, but oddly flattered at the same time, he covers his face with the palm of his hand in a vain attempt to conceal the spreading heat flooding his cheeks. “Well, thanks. I try at any rate—to be a good guy.” 

“That’s good to know,” she says, sipping her martini once more. “Hey, Matt?”

“Yes, Sylvie?”

“Do you want to play my favorite bar game?” 

Without hesitation, Matt grins. “I’d love to play your favorite bar game.”

One brow arches, a wry smile curving her mouth. “Don’t you want to know what it is first?” 

Amused, he smirks and shakes his head as he draws the bottle of beer to his mouth. “I’m getting out of my comfort zone tonight,” he tells her. “What’s the game?”

Sylvie places her glass down on the bar and rubs her hands together excitedly. “There’s only two rules to the game, so it’s super easy, okay?”

God, this woman is adorable! And even though they just met, he’s captivated by her presence. “Two rules. Shoot!” 

“Rule number one—play the worst song on the jukebox. Rule number two—watch people react.” 

Matt quirks a questioning brow at the simplicity. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it. However, there is one caveat I forgot to mention. When playing with another person, you both have to agree on what the worst song is.”

He fights the smile threatening to flash over his lips, instead nodding soberly. “Ah, I see where that would be tricky. This is a big responsibility. So many options.”

“Right? I mean, obviously Nickelback could be a contender."

"Of course. Coldplay, too, because they're European Nickelback!" Matt counters.

Sylvie throws her head back laughing, and grips his left arm with her hand to brace herself. "Oh, my  _ god! _ European Nickelback! I've never heard that one before, but it's totally true." She laughs some more, the sound infectious, and when she lifts her head he can see tears in her eyes that she carefully wipes away. "Hysterical!" Her hand falls away, but the warmth from her skin lingers on his. 

"The only problem," Sylvie starts, once she’s composed herself, "is that we can't pick either of those two bands as our worst." 

Matt follows where she's going and nods in agreement. "Yeah, because too many people like them and don't realize they're the worst. The only ears we'd be punishing are our own."

Surprise glints in her eyes and over her face. "Yes! That is exactly it! Matt, you may be the best person I've ever played this game with." 

An arbitrary honor, to be sure, but one he’s thankful to receive nonetheless. "Thanks. Should we go scope out the jukebox?"

Sylvie shakes her head no, reaching into the small crossbody purse she's wearing to fish out her phone. "No. TouchTunes has an app now. So we can be completely inconspicuous about playing the song and no one will be the wiser. It's brilliant!" 

She opens up the app and together they huddle up around her phone where they spend the next 15 minutes tossing out suggestions, cracking jokes, and enjoying each other’s company. 

"Do you play the song once?" Matt asks later, after she vetoes  _ Gangnam Style.  _ "Or do you go full Salt & Pepper Diner on this game?" 

The expression she telegraphs his direction can only be described as impressed, and it feels like another badge earned from her. "And he knows John Mulaney.” She holds up her hand for a high five, which Matt playfully slaps. “Just once, but it can’t be  _ What’s New Pussycat _ ,” she answers.

“There are decidedly more than two rules to this game, Sylvie,” he teases, and earns a playful elbow to the ribs. 

“Shut it,” Sylvie volleys back. “Okay, I think we’ve narrowed our top two choices to  _ The Night Chicago Died _ by Paper Lace and Starland Vocal Band’s  _ Afternoon Delight. _ What do you think?”

“Well—I think you’re underestimating a Chicago crowd. Doesn’t matter that the song is terrible, Chicago’s right there in the title, so people will celebrate it. You've gotta go with  _ Afternoon Delight. _ ”

Sylvie narrows her eyes and purses her lips as she considers his statement. After a moment she offers a firm nod of agreement. “Solid logic, Matt. Starland Vocal Band it is!” Excited, she selects the song in her app and uses an extra credit for the song to play next. She snags her martini off the bar and holds it up for a toast. “Nice work. That was some varsity level play for a rookie. I’m impressed.” 

Smirking, Matt clinks his bottle to the rim of her glass. Thanks, Coach. So, now what?”

“Now we wait and observe.” 

An easy silence falls between them, one he wouldn’t expect to feel having only just met her. She turns and rests her forearms on the bartop, casually waving to her friends who keep glancing their direction every so often to check on her. There’s so much more he wants to know about her, but he’s also enjoying the enigma of the whole evening, content to let things unfold organically. Besides, it doesn’t feel like the right time for 20 questions. Especially not when the opening guitar strains of their song selection begins playing and Sylvie’s foot nudges against his. Pure joy radiates from her body, eyes crinkled in delight as she angles her head conspiratorially and says, “Here we go!” 

Sylvie scans the crowd for reactions. Matt finds himself hard pressed to tear his eyes away from Sylvie. The moment he does, however, he spots Hank Voight swaggering through Molly’s, and his good mood takes a fucking nosedive. He’s got a pretty good idea why Voight’s here, and it’s unfortunately going to pull him away from the fun he’s having and derail the evening. 

“Ooh, we got one!” Sylvie says, keeping her eyes forward. “Check out the table at 10 o’clock. There’s a definite reaction to the music.”

Matt looks in that direction, and sure enough he sees a collective group of equally disgusted faces seated around a high top. One man clearly mouths  _ What the fuck is this _ ? Then he hears a snort of muffled laughter beside him. Sylvie covers her face with one hand, shoulders shaking. She’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Got ‘em!” Matt murmurs in her ear. 

Glancing up, he catches sight of Voight again who’s staring coolly back at him. Voight jerks his chin towards the rear of the bar, a clear indication that he wants Matt to follow. Matt nods and holds up a finger, though not the preferred middle one that prick deserves. With a quiet sigh, he places a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder. “Will you excuse me for a few minutes? I need to go back there and talk about work for a bit. I’m really sorry.” 

Sylvie smiles, understanding lighting in her eyes. “Yeah, no problem.” She points towards her friend group. “I’ll be over there.” 

“I’ll be right back,” he insists, and hopes that’s a promise he can keep.

The smile on her face devolves into a flirtatious grin. “I hope so.” She picks up her nearly empty martini glass and walks away, tossing him one last look over her shoulder. 

Fuck Hank Voight. 

* * *

Matt's hunch about why Voight showed up tonight proved accurate. Last shift, 51 had been called to a blazing apartment fire where two people were found dead on arrival. From the jump, the whole thing felt sketchy, and they were all lucky to get out of there unscathed once the roof collapsed. Once the fire was contained and all the paperwork had been completed, both he and Severide met with OFI to give them their assessment. 

It’s no surprise that intelligence is now involved, given the two victims had died of strangulation and were long dead before the fire started. So now Voight’s grilling them for information, employing his tactic of asking the same questions with different wording each time to see if their answers change. Look, of course Matt’s willing to help, even if that help is far more reluctantly given when Voight’s involved, but the fact this has to happen  _ right now _ of all times when he was in the middle of his best night in ages totally rankles. 

From his position in the back of the bar, he can’t see Sylvie without completely turning around and being obvious about it. Knowing his luck, Voight would drag this out even longer just to be an asshole and spite him. Besides, it takes all of his concentrated efforts on a regular day to keep a leash on his anger and not punch the head of intelligence in the mouth. He doesn’t need to divide his attention further by seeking out the sexy, dimpled blonde who enchanted him from the first laugh.

Matt loses track of how long this goes on. Again, not wanting to draw attention and risk slowing down the works, he doesn’t glance at his watch. Eventually, Voight manages a grizzled, “Thanks. I’ll be in touch,” and lumbers away. 

Severide stops Matt before he can escape. “Looks like you and blondie are hitting it off,” he says with a wry grin. 

“It’s Sylvie,” he corrects, unable to stop the grin that forms on his mouth. “And yeah, we are.” He motions with his head toward the bar. “I should get back.”

“Hey, Casey,” Severide calls. Matt turns around, brows raised. “Having fun looks good on you. Try it more often, alright?” 

No longer worried about pissing off the wrong person, Matt smirks, flipping up his middle finger, and walks away.

The crowd has markedly thinned in the time he was talking to Voight. Quickly scanning the room for Sylvie, he comes up empty handed. There’s no sign of her anywhere, and the space at the bar where her group of friends mingled all night is nothing more than vacant barstools. 

His stomach sinks in disappointment. He casts another look around, just in case, but it's useless. Sylvie's gone, and the hopes he'd attempted to keep from flying too high earlier come crashing down around him.

And just like that, he's back to being the grumpy asshole everyone accuses him of being. Now he  _ really  _ wants to punch Voight in the face. 

"Casey," Kidd calls, motioning him over to the bar. 

There's an odd expression on her face that he can't decipher. Lord knows what it is she has to tell him now. He doesn't really want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear anything. He just wants to go home. More questions arise when she turns and shakes her head disappointedly at a sheepish looking Herrmann.

"Yeah?" he asks.

Kidd sighs and scoops her mane of hair back from her face. "Sylvie and her friends left."

Frowning, he grumbles, "Yeah, I put that together on my own."

“She talked to me before she left,” Kidd informs, and Matt perks up slightly. 

“What’d she say?” he asks, trying not to appear too eager or gets his hopes again. 

“That your work conversation looked important and tense and she didn’t want to interrupt to tell you her group was moving on to the next stop on their bar crawl.” 

Now Matt definitely knows an important piece of the puzzle is missing and Stella doesn’t want to tell him what it is. “Is that it?” he prods.

“She wrote her number down and asked me to give it to you,” Stella replies, then glares once more at Herrmann. 

The signs are all there. Sylvie may have written her number down for him to call, but he knows Herrmann’s hangdog expression when he sees it. It’s the same look the man wore when he burned down his makeshift officer’s quarters. Matt won’t be calling Sylvie after all. “What happened?” he asks, slipping all too easily into Disappointed Captain mode.

“I set the napkin down for a split second instead of putting it in my pocket,” Stella admits. 

Dejected, Herrmann chimes in, “I grabbed the napkin to wipe up a spill on the bar.” He stares down at his feet, placing a balled-up wet napkin on the bar in front of him. “This is what’s left.” 

It’s almost funny, he thinks, and if it had happened to anyone else he’d almost laugh. His mind zeroes in on that word.  _ Almost _ .

There were a lot of  _ almosts _ this evening. He almost didn’t come out tonight. He almost left early. Almost missed out on hearing that wonderfully infectious laugh that led him to meeting Sylvie. He almost got her number. And for the briefest of moments, he almost let himself believe it was fate. Well, if fate is a thing, she just kicked him right in the balls and told him to think again.

“I’m really sorry, Casey,” Herrmann apologizes, tone sincere. 

Matt shrugs it off, because what else is he supposed to do? He’s not going to flip a damn lid over an honest mistake when it appears that Herrmann and Stella are beating themselves up enough about it already. “It is what it is,” he says, reaching for his wallet. 

“Oh no!” Stella injects. “Your drinks are on the house tonight.”

Herrmann nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Can I get you another one?”

Waving their offer away, he forces a tight smile. “No thanks—I’m gonna head out. See you guys next shift.”

The weight of their collective stares sits heavily on his shoulders until he’s out the front door. He’s positive that he remains their topic of conversation long after he’s gone, but he doesn’t give a fuck. Palming the keys in his pocket as he approaches his truck, he feels all wound up. Too restless drive home and go right to bed, Matt leaves his keys where they are and decides to walk for a bit to clear his head.

It’s an exercise in futility, honestly. Instead of clearing his head, his brain chooses to replay every last detail of his interaction with Sylvie. 

Every smile. Every laugh. Every word. 

He keeps walking, hoping that wherever Sylvie is right now, she knows just how much he enjoyed meeting her.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't kill me. This is part one of a new collection of works featuring these two, so you will see them again. I'd love to know your thoughts on this one! I know AU isn't everyone's cup of tea, but hopefully you'll give it a chance.


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